Water.
The sound of rushing water.
The sound of more rushing water.
That was all that could be seen or heard in those glorious moments. The old man remained in that position; arms stretched out, icy blue eyes bulging dangerously, veins popping wildly, and his white hair blowing backwards elegantly.
A few moments passed before the old man finally decided to let up.
Having executed an ordinary D-rank water explosion, he cut off the flow, and slowly lowered his arms. The water attack ceased immediately.
He was so confident that he had out the flame, that he didn't even bother to check. Feeling nothing at all, the old man turned his back to leave. He lifted his gaze to search for his cane.
As his eyes- which had now reverted from icy blue back to normal gray, searched the surrounding for the wooden stick, his gaze was arrested by yet another wonder.
A flicker of red caught the corner of his eye.
